


another sun

by heartsighed



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Afterlife, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Future, Assisted Suicide, Car Accidents, Drinking, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Fake Marriage, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Terminal Illnesses, Virtual Reality, black mirror: san junipero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-14 03:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsighed/pseuds/heartsighed
Summary: When Shimizu Kiyoko dies, she dies with a sigh on her lips.She dies with a sigh so faint she can barely feel its warmth cresting her tongue and pushing itself feebly through her mouth. It is the last thing she registers before she melts, splashing into a void that is not quite death and not quite heaven.Every road ends in Torono, but nothing ever really ends.





	

_When Shimizu Kiyoko dies, she dies with a sigh on her lips._

_She dies with a sigh so faint she can barely feel its warmth cresting her tongue and pushing itself feebly through her mouth. It is the last thing she registers before she melts, splashing into a void that is not quite death and not quite heaven._

_It is not dark, nor is it light. She is momentarily unaware of herself, fading into the blankness of a million minds, all melded into one great ocean that surges up to swallow her._

 

\--

 

It’s the summer of 1987 and Yachi Hitoka stands in a warm room with posters lining the walls and glitter pens scattered across the desk. There’s old pop music blaring from a pair of speakers and everything looks familiar, but it’s not quite the room she grew up in.

She stands in front of the mirror, smoothing down her pleated skirt and admiring the way it ruffles when she twirls on the hardwood floor. For a moment, she pictures herself in bright neon with lipstick the color of bubblegum.

In the end, she decides on a white blouse and knee-length shorts.

It’s evening when Hitoka leaves the house, creeping down the nondescript street with no clear destination in mind. It’s her first night out and she is timeless.

 _You can go anywhere_ , she chants to herself, a mantra for courage, as she wanders into the town. _You can do anything_.

She finds herself standing in front of an electric-looking club with neon signs plastered over the front and the smell of sweat wafting from its dark insides. Is this what clubs from the 80s are supposed to look like? She isn’t sure, but none of the music sounded familiar, and people are dressed even more flamboyantly than she had anticipated.

She takes a deep breath, adjusts her pigtails, and steps inside.

 

\--

 

There is a hand on her elbow, soft and firm all at once.

If she had been anyone else, Hitoka might not have noticed it amidst the harsh lights and heart-pumping music and breathless yelling, but Hitoka is new and she hasn’t yet discovered she can turn down her sensor settings and she is currently drowning in the deluge of sound and touch and smell.

And then, the hand pulls her out.

Hitoka turns and is immediately stricken breathless by the beauty who has just grabbed her, face so close she can make out the glitter of the flashing lights in her dark eyes. She’s absolutely _gorgeous_ , with shiny hair, thick lashes, and a full rosebud mouth, and she’s standing _really close_ and Hitoka needs to say something _right now_.

“Uh—” she says intelligently.

“Please play along,” the beauty says, and Hitoka can’t choke out any words because she has a beauty spot right under her eye.

God, she can feel her face turning firetruck red. Thankfully, the strobe lights have turned blue, effectively killing any chance the warm hues might be visible on her skin.

Wait— _play along?_

“Kiyoko-san!” a voice calls—no, _booms_ —and a man with distinctive bleached hair smoothed back on his head in an impressive feat of hair gel and striking tie-dye steps out of the crowd.

 _Is this what people looked like in the eighties?_ Hitoka thinks faintly. She glances down at her nondescript blouse and khaki shorts, gulping. _Wow, I’m way off_.

The beauty holds her arm a little tighter to her body, effectively short-circuiting Hitoka’s brain.

“Sorry,” she breathes in Hitoka’s ear, sending embarrassing shivers down her spine.

“Kiyoko-san, let’s dance,” the man says, flashing a dashingly sharp smile. He has black piercings dotting his ears, even one or two on his eyebrows and lip. Hitoka thinks she may faint.

“I’m with my friend,” Kiyoko says coolly, and Hitoka is too dizzy to even vocalize the screech currently bouncing through her head.

“We can hang together, then,” he says, smile turning sharper by the second. He reaches out, but Kiyoko bats away his hand, shifting so Hitoka’s slightly behind her.

“She’s going to die in four months,” she says. “I want to devote all my time to her.”

Something changes in the man’s eyes. The smile doesn’t melt off, but it doesn’t look as knifelike as before. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Hitoka stares until Kiyoko nudges her.

“O-Okay,” she finally squeaks. “Thank you.”

“There you have it, Yuuji-san,” Kiyoko finishes smoothly. “If you would leave, now. You’re scaring her.”

The man scratches his head a bit sheepishly. The pile of hair quivers. “Sorry about that,” he offers before bouncing back into the crowd.

“I’m sorry about that,” Kiyoko says, and all Hitoka can think of is how the ocean seems to roar in her ears, a constant buzz of panic that keens in her ears and swells until she is drowning in Kiyoko’s gaze.

That night, Hitoka runs away.

 

\--

 

The next week, Hitoka finds herself in the arcade, standing before an ancient Pac-Man machine, of all things, as a tall man with cropped light hair stares holes through his glasses, straight into the screen as if trying to obliterate the tiny characters skittering across the screen.

Her hands twitch as she fiddles with the controls until she finally runs out of lives.

“Tsukishima Kei,” the man offers, and Hitoka is too busy quivering under his sharp glare to mention that she never asked.

“Yachi Hitoka,” she says before she can stop herself.

He plows on anyway, an excited gleam starting to develop behind his glasses. “Yachi-san, are you interested in Pac-Man?”

“Oh, not really—” she begins to fluster.

“I’m very happy to have met someone with similar interests,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and not looking very pleased at all. He’s so tall, Hitoka thinks she might fall over backwards if she tries to make eye contact with him.

“You know, I wanted to visit this arcade for the longest time for this very machine,” Tsukishima plows on. “Their attention to detail in designing an exact replica—”

“Excuse us, Tsukishima-kun.” A voice breathes in Hitoka’s ear, and a soft body presses up behind her. Kiyoko pulls her away before she can stutter goodbye to Tsukishima.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoko says when they’re outside, leaning against the brick wall of the club. “I must have made you uncomfortable again.”

Hitoka nearly screeches with mortification. “No! No, no, you don’t make me uncomfortable at all!”

“Oh.” Kiyoko looks like she doesn’t believe her.

“Really,” Hitoka insists. “I’m sorry for running away last time. What did you want to tell me?”

“Thank you for playing along last time. You’re very kind,” Kiyoko swivels her head, fixing Hitoka with a slight quirk of the lips that leaves Hitoka trembling and blushing furiously. “I’d like to pay you back. Would you like a drink? Or a dance, perhaps?”

“U-um,” Hitoka stammers, clenching and unclenching her fingers. “I don’t know if I want to—”

“Something else if you’re uncomfortable in the club?” Kiyoko says, sounding a little more insistent. “Or I could owe you a favor?”

“Ah,” Hitoka swallows. She’s probably the color of a tomato by now. “Then, how about an ice cream?”

 

\--

 

There are convenience stores in Torono, Hitoka discovers.

Specifically, there is one on the tiny hill past the school, past the swimming pool, past the row of tiny, nondescript houses, next to the utility pole that looks like it could be crooked if viewed from a certain angle. All the utility poles looked like they could be crooked if viewed from a certain angle. The trick was to never look at two from the same angle.

“I’m a little fond of this place,” Kiyoko admits, her tranquil voice not feeling out of place at all under the buzz of the garish fluorescent lights and silent summer warmth. “It reminds me of my childhood.”

“You lived in a town like Torono?”

“I lived in a small town in Miyagi,” Kiyoko says. “It was a different time, but that’s the nice thing about small towns; they never really change.”

Hitoka glances around the store. No one but the cashier, falling asleep at the till.

“I was born in Miyagi,” Hitoka says. “But I moved to Tokyo when I turned five.”

“It must be different from your childhood then,” Kiyoko observes, opening the refrigerator door to retrieve a bottle of water. The cold air swirls at Hitoka’s legs, brushing at her bare skin.

“Yes,” Hitoka agrees. “But I like it.”

“Would you like to share a popsicle, Hitoka-chan?” Kiyoko asks, opening the door wider so she can inspect the options.

“Oh,” Hitoka colors, shaking her head, “I couldn’t trouble you to—”

“I’m not paying,” Kiyoko says, a faint almost-smile teasing at her lips, and Hitoka can’t help but nod. “What flavor?”

“Anything is fine!”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten a popsicle,” Kiyoko admits. She props the door against her back, leaning in until she’s brushing Hitoka’s arm. After a moment of pondering, she plucks out one of the few bars with familiar packaging. “How about a Garigari-kun?”

“Alright,” Hitoka agrees quickly. Thankfully, Kiyoko leans back out and closes the door before she can combust.

Outside, Kiyoko break the popsicle in half, handing one to Hitoka and disposing of the wrapper in the trash. She watches Hitoka until she takes an experimental lick and shows an appreciative reaction. Satisfied, she turns to her own portion and takes a small bite.

“Did you eat a lot of popsicles when you were young, Kiyoko-san?”

“When I was in high school, my friends and I would stop by the convenience store almost every day,” Kiyoko says, another almost-smile floating onto her face. “And you, Hitoka-chan?”

“Once in a while.” She frowns. “I think."

 

\--

 

The nice thing about eating ice cream on the beach at night is the ocean, so dark it looks like it can swallow the world whole. Hitoka finds it reassuring, in some strange way. Being around other people is exhilarating, but she still finds it overwhelming at times.

The bad thing about eating ice cream on the beach at night is the sand. Hitoka swallows at least a mouthful’s worth every time she took a lick of her cone. The wind wasn’t strong, but it was enough to blow grit into her frozen treats, apparently.

The most wonderful thing about eating ice cream on the beach at night has nothing to do with the ice cream or the beach or any of it, really. The most wonderful thing, Hitoka thinks, is the way Kiyoko’s skin feels when their hands brush, the way the mole on her chin stretches when she smiles at something Hitoka says.

Kiyoko gets mint chocolate chip and Hitoka gets vanilla and she can’t really remember if the taste on her tongue is what vanilla always tasted like, or if she even used to like vanilla at all. It didn’t really matter, because she ended up forgetting to eat until the ice cream ran over her fingers in sticky trails, too busy drinking in the soothing hum of Kiyoko’s voice, punctuated by quiet laughter.

They stay until midnight, when Kiyoko leaves a kiss and the scent of mint on her cheek and the world quietly blinks out of existence in between one heartbeat and the next.

 

\--

 

“I was hitting on you the first night.” A quiet admission as they’re vaulting the gate to a school campus that will never have students.

Hitoka nearly chokes. “ _Me?_ But _why?_ ”

“You’re cute.”

Hitoka’s face heats up. “I don’t know if I can—”

“You don’t have to do anything with me,” Kiyoko says. She glances at Hitoka out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. It was my mistake.”

“I-It wasn’t out of lack of interest,” Hitoka almost yells. Kiyoko looks a little surprised, although Hitoka can’t tell if it’s because of the content or volume of her statement. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Okay.”

They sit by the pool and dangle their legs in and Hitoka is glad she decided to wear the khaki shorts after all.

 

\--

 

Kiyoko has a house on the beach made of white painted wood and giant windows and clean linen. There is a bowl of fruit in the kitchen and two picture frames by the bed, one containing a photo of a slightly younger Kiyoko holding a cake with three other boys sporting party hats and the other a grinning orange-haired man.

Kiyoko also has a black Hummer that she uses to drive Hitoka to the house all the way from Torono. She drives slowly the entire way after noticing Hitoka flinching when she steps too hard on the gas.

Hitoka stares out the large windows all night and wonders how the house looks flooded with noon sunlight.

 

\--

 

They see Terushima Yuuji once, on a street by the beach.

“He’s not a bad person,” Kiyoko says when Hitoka squeaks and cowers behind her. “We met at the Quagmire and I went home with him a few times. He thinks he loves me.” It’s a flat statement, free of ego or admiration or disgust or even sadness.

“You don’t love him?” Hitoka asks softly.

“I don’t want to love anyone,” Kiyoko replies, and this time, she sounds sad.

 

\--

 

“I think I’m ready, Kiyoko-san.”

 

\--

 

The stars sing in the night, dark waters lap at glowing shores, and the scent of hair gel, salt spray, and heady liquor softened with sweet fruit buries itself deep in Hitoka’s bones.

Kiyoko says nothing, but there is a slight hitch in her throat as she inhales, and Hitoka can’t help but fall forward.

“Kiyoko-san,” she gasps as Kiyoko slides a knee and nudges up between her thighs.

She brushes kisses to the soft skin behind her ear and murmuring encouragement as her hands stroke firm, burning lines down Hitoka’s sides.

Hitoka arches into the touch, not quite ready to relinquish control yet, and Kiyoko traces patterns into her skin until she feels dizzy.

She works slowly, patient and reverent, but Hitoka still feels like she is drowning in heat as she trembles and falls apart under the slow slide of skin and insistent press of fingers, pressing her damp forehead in Kiyoko’s shoulder and clenching her teeth against the crash of waves in her gut.

Later, when they lay side by side on the pillow, not quite touching but close enough for Kiyoko’s face to fill the entire world, Hitoka lets her lips form a small smile, loose with content.

 

\--

 

Kiyoko is not at the arcade. She is not at the bar, either.

“I don’t know her,” Tsukishima says, frowning at the buttons on the crane game. “She comes around sometimes, I guess.”

“Not sure,” the bartender says, shrugging. “She comes and goes.”

“What about,” Hitoka grasps for another name, “Terushima Yuuji?”

Another shrug.

“Check the Quagmire.”

The Quagmire is not pleasant. It is not pleasant, but Hitoka finds a familiar face in the haze of sweat and sex.

“Terushima-san!” She struggles against the flow of people.

He looks up, expression bewildered and lost. After a moment, his face colors with recognition.

“You’re her friend,” he states. “The one about to die.” He states it like one would say a favorite color or which movie they went to see last week.

She nods, gulping down fear at the flatness of his gaze. “Have you seen Kiyoko-san?”

For a moment, he just looks down at her with faint confusion. Then, something dawns and Hitoka feels queasy at the flash of pity and something else that surfaces from beneath the flatness.

“So you’re the same,” he says. “She left you.”

Hitoka winces.

A faint smile spreads over his lips, jagged as broken glass. “Are you looking for her?”

Hitoka nods.

“No feelings,” he snorts, raising a bottle of beer to his mouth. “She’s worth it though, isn’t she?”

Hitoka nods again. He studies her as best he can, swaying from side to side.

“Try another time,” he says finally. “I haven’t seen her around, though.”

Hitoka thanks him, but he doesn’t seem to hear her. She turns to push herself away as he mutters again, “She’s worth it.”

 

\--

 

In the end, Kiyoko isn’t in the 70s. She’s not in the 90s, and she’s not in the 60s either.

Hitoka finds her in the 2000s, not at the bar, or the arcade, or the convenience store, or the park, or the ocean. Of all places, she is sitting by the edge of the swimming pool, bare legs dangling into the water.

Hitoka lingers by the fence, beyond the faint blue glow of the pool, squeezing and unsqueezing her toes in her shoes. The breeze is just warm enough as it nips at Hitoka’s arms, on the verge of eternal summer.

“Kiyoko-san.” She steps forward.

When Kiyoko turns, she looks the youngest that Hitoka has ever seen her. The light of the pool casts an unearthly green tinge to her skin, lighting her face just enough for Hitoka to spot the beauty mark on her chin.

Hitoka swallows. Takes another step. “Kiyoko-san, I was looking for you.”

Kiyoko blinks and looks down again. “This isn’t going to work, Hitoka-chan.”

Hitoka can feel the tears pooling despite herself, and she clenches her fists with frustration. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to love anyone,” Kiyoko murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

 _She hates you, she hates you, she hates you_ , Hitoka’s brain screams at her.

 _There was something there that night_ , she yells back. _Don’t give up_.

_What if I was imagining it?_

“Oh,” she says out loud, taking a step back.

 _Stop it_ , she scolds.

 _Run_ , her brain says.

_You weren’t imagining it._

_You were._

She forces herself to shift her weight forward again, bringing the foot back.

“Can I sit next to you?”

Kiyoko looks pained, but nods.

Hitoka slowly walks around the pool, one agonizing step at a time, until she is standing at the edge, a mere foot from Kiyoko’s leg, thanking her lucky stars she decided to wear shorts today. She toes off her shoes and, with trembling fingers, slips off her socks. With a gulp, fists tight at her side, she dips a toe in.

The water is warm. She allows herself a minute sigh of relief and sinks the toe in further until she has submerged up to the arch. Her fists relax. And then, all at once, as she bends her knee to lower herself just a little more, her back foot slips and she pitches forward headfirst.

“Hitoka-chan!” she hears Kiyoko gasp, and then she is plunging into the water with a mortifyingly painful slap.

She windmills her arms for a moment, and then the white panic sets in, blurring her brain as it screams for air when all she can suck in is chlorine and water and more chlorine and more water and—

Something solid wraps around her waist, pulling her up until the lukewarm air floods into her lungs again.

Kiyoko guides her to the edge of the pool, where she collapses against the concrete with her arms splayed before her, coughing and choking and inhaling so hard she probably sounds like a whale.

When the coughing finally eases off, she realizes that Kiyoko’s arms are still wrapped around her waist.

“I’m sorry, Kiyoko-san,” she squeaks, the pitch slightly off from her hoarse throat. She can feel her face turning warm. “Thank you.”

“You told me you can’t swim,” Kiyoko frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you. My pain settings were low!” Hitoka nods furiously. She pauses, biting her lip. “I’m sorry I’m so persistent. I’ll just go now.”

She braces her arms against the concrete edge, lifting, only to find herself falling back after a moment. Face bright red, she tries again, straining her arms.

“Let me,” Kiyoko says after a moment, moving her hands to Hitoka’s hips and pushing her up with ease.

Hitoka scrambles out as fast as she can, refusing to think about the feeling of Kiyoko’s hands, solid against her skin, and what memories they bring rushing back. Her brain supplies them anyway.

Kiyoko climbs out easily after her, and Hitoka realizes belatedly she probably could have gotten a head start if she had bolted the second she left the water.

_RUN!_

“I’ll just go now,” she yelps again, but she freezes as Kiyoko’s gentle hand lands on her shoulder.

“Wait.”

Hitoka would probably stand there for forever if Kiyoko asked her to.

“Who,” Kiyoko starts, but abruptly stops herself. A small frown passes over her lips, eyebrows pulling together just slightly as she mulls over her words. “Why do you wish to be with me?”

“I—” Hitoka’s blush feels hot enough to melt her cheeks now. _Why does she even want to know this? Isn’t it obvious?_

“I’ve never let myself feel anything for another woman before,” she forces out, panting with effort. “And I didn’t really know if I was ever going to—and then you came and I didn’t know what I should say or do or—I couldn’t find you—and Terushima-san said you were worth it!” she blurts, feeling like she may have just exploded a little.

“You saw Yuuji?”

“I was looking for you.” Hitoka’s eyes fix on her shoelaces.

“I haven’t spoken to him since I met you.” Kiyoko sounds troubled.

“I’m sorry,” Hitoka whispers.

“I feel something for you, too.”

When Hitoka looks up again, Kiyoko is grimacing hard enough to wrinkle her forehead.

“I wasn’t looking to start something here. I’m just passing through, and yet, here I am.”

Hitoka is seized with a sudden rush of boldness. Maybe it’s because she’s wearing only one sopping wet shoe and she’s feeling a bit delirious from all the talking. Maybe it’s because nothing really seems to be grounded anymore, the moonlit pool a small island floating in the darkness. Maybe it’s because Kiyoko looks the least composed she’s ever seen.

“Kiyoko-san, how old are you?”

“Ninety-two,” Kiyoko answers. After a pause, “And you?”

“Eighty-four,” Hitoka exhales, straightening just a little.

Slowly, slowly, Kiyoko’s hand drifts down her arm, snagging her fingers.

“Kiyoko-san,” Hitoka says, voice as small as she can muster because she doesn’t want to hope just yet. “Would you be willing to try with me?”

“I’m scared,” is all Kiyoko replies, but her fingers tighten around Hitoka's, gripping with gentle firmness, even though she knows Hitoka’s pain sliders are already set on low.

 

\--

 

Hitoka memorizes every inch of Kiyoko’s house, even if there are too many parts missing.

In Torono, there is no need to record expiration dates for food. There is no need for a vacuum cleaner or a mop or a duster or a washing machine or a toothbrush.

Five hours a week is an awfully short time to be alive.

The pictures by the bed have moved to the living room. There are handwritten notes in the back of the frames, the pencil marks faded with time (it’s how Hitoka knows they’re real). The first one has three. The second has only one, scrawled in barely legible scribbles.

_Best of wishes for another year together! -Daichi_

_I hope you have good luck this year. -Asahi_

_Don’t finish all of the leftover cake tonight. We bought enough to last you a week. –Suga_

_Thank you for everything, Auntie! I hope you and Uncle Asahi and my dads don’t get too lonely without me there. Come visit me often! -Shouyo_

After a while, Hitoka realizes she’s never seen Kiyoko wear glasses.

 

\--

 

“I’m just passing through. I’ll be gone in a few months.”

“You’ll pass over permanently afterwards?”

Kiyoko never answers.

 

\--

 

“Who are you in real life?”

Hitoka is silent for a long time. “I don’t think you’d like my real self very much.”

“Why would you think that?”

The ocean beats a tuneless rhythm against the shore as Kiyoko’s breath paints another one over her lips.

Hitoka slides an arm over Kiyoko’s bare stomach, pulling her closer and tangling their legs under the sheets.

With her mouth to Kiyoko’s ear, she whispers a secret.

 

\--

 

The next day, Shimizu Kiyoko, age 92, leaves the retirement home with a nurse at 8:43 in the morning, boarding the transport vehicle to a hospital in Tokyo. The ride is long, nearly two and a half hours, and she can soon feel herself dozing off to the quiet hum of the engine, smooth against unbroken pavement.

“Shimizu-san?” the nurse asks in a soft voice as she loses herself in the ocean unfurling out the window, still and vast beside the rolling road. “Are you alright?”

She nods, a slow smile flitting over her mouth. Everything is slow these days, and Kiyoko can feel the time inching by, closer and closer. “I’m fine, Chikara.”

“Any pain?”

“Nothing that I haven’t felt before.” She sighs and settles back in the seat.

At the front desk, they are received by a tall nurse with freckles dusting his sunny face.

“Shimizu Kiyoko-sama?” He takes her arm from Chikara, gently guiding her towards the elevators. “Yachi-san has told me a lot about you. My name is Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

The name yields a flash of recognition.

“I see,” Kiyoko nods. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

The rooms in the long-term ward are quieter than the general waiting area. They are painted fresh white and polished with shiny steel. Hitoka’s room is a single at the end of the hall, small but enough for one bed and a bedside desk that holds a single empty vase. The sheets are crisp and wrinkleless, lit a bright white by the sunlight slanting in through the windows.

“Hello, love,” Kiyoko says to the figure on the bed, serene amidst the beep of monitors and scent of hospital antiseptic.

Hitoka can’t reply, but Kiyoko is content to clasp her thin fingers over the sheets and identify both the familiar and foreign lines of her face.

 

\--

 

“It’s very kind, what you’re doing,” Kiyoko tells Yamaguchi later over coffee.

“I’ve been treating Yachi-san for twenty years.” The man’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “She deserves to be happy, but she’s still confined to five hours a week as long as she’s legally alive. I never met anyone I wanted to marry, so I thought, ‘Why not?’ It’s the only way she can receive clear consent.”

“You speak with her often?”

He nods. “We have machines for that now, although the technology is relatively new, so it’s not classified as clear consent. They hook up to her neural system and if she focuses, we can chat. She’s very soothing to talk to.”

Kiyoko is quiet for a long moment. “She has no living family members?”

Yamaguchi shakes his head, his smile falling. “As a child, she was taken in by her mother’s brother after her mother passed away. No dad in the picture. She got into the accident in her last year of college, and she’s been here ever since, but none of them have visited.”

 _My aunt caught me kissing a girl, once_ , Hitoka had said in her ear.

“I checked her family records a while ago, when she first brought up wanting to pass over permanently, but none of them are alive anymore. The other nurses told me they never wanted anything to do with her. They were ashamed, you see.”

_It was late at night, by the ocean._

“And she just needs consent given by a family member?”

Yamaguchi nods.

_I drove off the side of the road._

Kiyoko sets her cup down. “I can do it.”

Yamaguchi starts, eyes widening. “Are you sure?”

“I know we can't get married but—there’s no one left in my family registry,” Kiyoko says. “And the consenter doesn’t have to be a spouse.”

At Yamaguchi’s baffled look, she lets slip a small smile. “I don’t have much time left. Besides, I know all too well how lonely it is to be the last one alive.”

_It wasn’t an accident._

 

\--

 

Kiyoko kneels on one knee in the sand. There's a ring in her hand. When she looks up, Hitoka’s tears sparkle like diamonds in the darkness.

She asks.

Hitoka nods and Kiyoko rises and the tide rushes across the sand to kiss their ankles.

 

\--

 

Kiyoko holds Hitoka’s hand as she dies.

Hitoka can’t feel it, but she cradles the fragile joins and blue veins and papery skin to her chest, even when Chikara fits the headset over her head.

Yamaguchi gives her a nod as he cradles Hitoka’s other hand, but Kiyoko never sees them unhook the machine.

She never sees because she is in Torono already, gazing into Hitoka’s starlit face as a large smile breaks over her face, and Kiyoko thinks it look just a little too much like the sun for her heart to not hurt.

 

\--

 

Kiyoko agrees to take Hitoka on a honeymoon of sorts the next week. Really, they just go on a drive because all the roads eventually lead to Torono, and Hitoka insists that the beach is the best place to think.

They wear wedding dresses for the fun of it, puffy and long with full sleeves and lots of lace, and exchange gold bands while giggling in the front seat of the Hummer. Hitoka peppers Kiyoko with shy kisses until she feels lightheaded, and they drive along the road as warm wind, always on the brink of summer, brushes through their veils.

“I’m so happy, Kiyoko-san,” Hitoka says, voice thick with tears, and Kiyoko’s heart swells. “I’m so happy.”

“What did you do this week?”

“I stayed at home, mostly,” Hitoka tells her, excitement brimming in her tone. “I walked on the beach. I cooked a little. There’s a lot more food in the kitchen, now. Also! Your house looks so beautiful during the daytime.”

“Is that so?” Kiyoko maneuvers the car to the side of the road. Hitoka leaps out quickly, scampering out on light feet. “Describe it.”

“Your windows are so big,” Hitoka spreads her arms. “You can see how blue the water is. The sunlight hits _everything_. And the white curtains! They look so pretty in the breeze. Kiyoko-san, you should visit during the day.”

Kiyoko curls her toes into the sand. “Maybe another week.”

“Alright. We should go on a picnic! Or go hiking. When it’s light outside, you can see the mountain behind Torono. The stores are open, then, and there are so many people on the beaches! There’s so much to do during the day. Five hours a week just isn’t enough to do much together.”

Kiyoko’s throat tightens.

Hitoka’s smile dims as she turns and sees the expression on Kiyoko’s face. “Oh. I’m sorry, Kiyoko-san. I didn’t mean to imply that you should spend more time here or anything. I know there are rules.”

Kiyoko swallows past the lump in her throat and shakes her head.

Hitoka stares down at the cold sand, not meeting her eye, and Kiyoko can feel the question approaching.

 _No_ , she thinks. _No, not yet. Just let me have her just a little longer._

It’s ironic, how much Kiyoko wants more time after ninety-two years, after so long waiting for the end. She’s been waiting since Asahi died, seven years ago.

“Kiyoko-san.” Hitoka’s voice is quiet, hesitant. “Will you pass over to Torono when you die?”

Something sinks in Kiyoko’s chest.

“No.”

“Why?”

Hitoka is standing too far.

Kiyoko can’t even reach for her hand.

“Let me tell you a story,” Kiyoko says, “about my real self.”

And she answers the question that had hung between them since Hitoka fell into a pool and Kiyoko jumped in after her, that still hangs between them now, because Hitoka _still hasn’t asked._

 _I didn’t want her to ask_ , Kiyoko realizes.

More time.

Even before she knew it, she wanted more time.

She has to say it anyway.

“I once had a child,” she starts. “He was, in reality, legally adopted by two of my close friends, but really, I was his parent just as much as his two fathers. I thought—”

Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat. “I thought I would never find someone. I’ve liked men and women before, but no one enough to settle down with. I was content with Daichi and Suga and Asahi, and I never really thought any more of it until Daichi and Suga adopted. Shouyo was _mine_. I watched him grow like he was my own child for thirty-two years.”

She forces her eyes closed because she would not be able to speak otherwise. The tears slip out anyways.

“I raised him—no, _we_ , all four of us—raised him to be kind, loving, gentle, brave, and generous and we assumed we would never lose him, but we were wrong. It was an accident, just some drunk driver, but he took away something that could have been forever. After that, Daichi _hated_ the idea of San Junipero. We couldn’t blame him. Who could bear to stay here when Shouyo would never be able to come?”

She blinks her eyes open to find Hitoka staring at her, shiny eyes mirroring Kiyoko’s own.

“I’m the only one left,” she says, and it’s more of a plea than a statement. _You have to understand._ “They’ve all died and they’re never coming back. I can’t stay.”

“But that was their choice to make,” Hitoka insists, “and this is yours.”

“It’s not about the choice,” Kiyoko chokes out. “How could I be that selfish?”

“You’re not being selfish,” Hitoka says quietly, “if you want to keep living.”

 _You don’t know anything, Hitoka_ , Kiyoko thinks, and it’s not fair, because how could she?

How could Hitoka know what it was like to share someone’s life for forty years when she drove off the road at only twenty-one?

How could Hitoka know what it was like to live on afterwards when she left first?

How could Hitoka know what it was like to lose a child when she never even asked?

“Please stop,” Kiyoko tells her, and the pain erupts, dark and sharp and ugly, “I won’t stay. I won’t stay for you.”

 _I love you_ , she doesn’t think to say. _If only this was real._

Hitoka cries like she does everything else: the first tears are silent, so quiet Kiyoko almost misses them. Then, the floodgates open and she is sobbing loudly, louder than Kiyoko wants to hear, shouting apologies as Kiyoko turns to leave.

“I’m sorry, Kiyoko-san,” she pleads. “I misspoke. Please, come back. It’s our honeymoon.”

 _It’s not real_. The words seep like poison into Kiyoko’s head, distorting the ethereal beauty of Hitoka’s dress in the light of the moon, a perfect match to Kiyoko’s own. It’s not real.

She’s back in her car before she really notices, the seatbelt and something else pressing tight against her chest. The rush of the wind howls in her ears as she presses hard—too hard—on the gas pedal. She doesn’t know where she is going but it doesn’t matter, because the road always ends up nowhere at all.

_Everything ends at Torono._

Daichi and Asahi and Suga hadn’t ended at Torono.

Shouyo hadn’t ended at Torono.

She can still hear Asahi’s voice, the day she knew she would never live beyond the first death. Daichi and Suga had known long before then, but it was Asahi who really settled it all, with his shaky smile and wobbling voice, dry but ultimately unchanged with age.

_What would I do without my best friends? What would I do without Shouyo?_

Where were they now?

In the distance, the ocean, black in the night, crashes and beckons with wave after dark wave.

Kiyoko grits her teeth against the tears, refusing to cry.

The speedometer is dipping too far.

It’s not real.

Wind whipping at her hair, slapping her face and screaming in her ears. Hitoka had been driving like this so many years ago, alone aside from the smell of burning rubber and bitter fuel and her own tears, salty on her tongue.

_What did it feel like?_

As soon as the thought flits through her head, it becomes a reality. For a heart-stopping moment, the car slides, her grip slipping, and then everything is too loud, too forceful, too painful, even with her pain sliders all the way down.

She tumbles out of the car, flying glass and crushed metal and hot summer wind tearing rents into her skin as fast as they can disappear.

It’s not real.

_It’s not real._

She is lying face down on the sandy grass, and the taste of grit in her mouth is sharp and bitter. The wounds stitch themselves closed before they even finish tearing.

Footsteps crunching on gravel and sand.

“Kiyoko-san?”

When she looks up, Hitoka’s face, bright as the moon, hovers over her, a hand reaching out.

_Do I dare take it?_

Kiyoko blinks and she is aged and tired again, everything paling in the relentless, stinging reality of compression socks and hospital antiseptic and creaking bones. The only sound is the soft beep of the VR machine and Chikara’s soft snores from where he has fallen asleep on the seat beside her bed.

The facts stand out like stark black and white lettering in an obituary. There is death and there is passing. Only one is real, and Kiyoko afraid of both. She settles back in the recliner, watching Chikara’s lashes flutter in sleep, and wishes she never had a choice to make.

 

\--

 

“Chikara?”

“Yes, Shimizu-san?”

“I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

The sun is brilliant as it falls, painting the ocean a vibrant, endless red, and the waves roar in greeting as it dips below the horizon.

 

\--

 

Shimizu Kiyoko dies at the age of 92, tranquil in her last moments. Terminal sedation, after all, is a quiet way to go. Assisting her during her last moments are the head of the geriatrics department, Michimiya Yui, and her longtime attendant and nurse, Ennoshita Chikara.

The time of death is recorded as 6:04 in the evening. Her body is laid to rest in the cemetery near her old home. She is survived by no living members of her family.

 

\--

 

_Kiyoko wakes with the sun in her eyes, blindingly bright._

_She wakes to the sound of a voice, the ghost of a smile too solid to be a mirage._

_She wakes to the sensation of sand on her back, firm and warm and itchy against her arms._

_She wakes in small increments, but ultimately she wakes to Yachi Hitoka sitting on the beach bathed in heat, peering anxiously into her face._

I’m ready _, she had said a week ago to Chikara, watching the ocean bathed crimson in the dying light of the sun._ I’m ready for what comes after.

_Now she sits up under a different sun, not the same one, but by all means undistinguishable from the original. It’s not quite real, but it’s not empty either, and Kiyoko knows she isn’t quite ready for the emptiness just yet._

_She lets Hitoka pull her to her feet and the feeling of their lingering fingers lingering laced together might just be real enough._

**Author's Note:**

> there are some deviations from the original san junipero episode to take into account japanese assisted suicide and marriage laws. i am not japanese and have not lived in japan, so i am not entirely familiar with policies regarding the processes for adult adoption and euthanasia. if i made any mistakes, please lmk and i'll do my best to fix them.
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> edit 8/8/17: fixed some grammar and other confusing things


End file.
